


Snowfall.

by daydreamer2100



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Happy, Stark Family, Winterfell, angst (Just a little I promise), before the show begins, spoilers. --> You've been warned.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 02:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15160721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamer2100/pseuds/daydreamer2100
Summary: No one in Winterfell really pays much attention to Jon Snow, but after a freak accident the weight of the bastard's presence becomes evident.Just a short fic about life in Winterfell before the events of the series with a little drama.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really love GOT (especially Jon Snow). So, why not write a fic about it? 
> 
> I hope you guys like it, even if it does have some angst (sorry for that). It's very short, the chapters shouldn't be too long to read. 
> 
> Please leave any feedback so I may improve in my future works. 
> 
> Thanks!

“I win.” Robb declared, holding up his sparring sword. A boy of thirteen, Robb was already beginning to look like a man: Strong and tall. His face, however, betrayed him. His blue eyes were big like those of a child, his smile bright and innocent.  

“You did.” Jon replied, sitting up in the mud. He was the same age as Robb, but shorter and leaner. The differences in appearance mirrored those of character: Where Robb was loud and festive, Jon was quiet and reserved. It was hard not to notice Robb, but Jon had the ability to vanish when he wished to. Where Robb wore a bright grin, Jon kept a shy smile.

Jon picked up the sword from the mud, shaking it clean. A speck of dirt landed on Robb’s open mouth, making him back away coughing and gagging.

“Eating shit, are you?” Theon Greyjoy asked. He was a little older than the boys, at seventeen years of age. Much taller, and thin. He walked around with pride, his coat hanging off his shoulders graciously. His blue eyes went from Jon, smiling quietly in the mud as he looked on, to Robb wiping his mouth in disgust a few feet away.

“We were practicing.” Jon explained, standing up. He scratched his cheek, leaving a dark stain of mud on his cheek.

“Well, practice is over.” Theon sighed. “Lady Stark says you have to wash up, Lord Stark’s guest will be here soon.”

 

*******

 

Robb and Jon sat in two stools as two servants scrubbed them clean. The water was cold and the rags rough. Jon sat there silently while Robb groaned as they poured more water on their backs. “It would’ve been warm if you had come in earlier, my lord.” One of the servants replied.

They left them alone after some more scrubbing, going for their clothes. Robb scratched his back, trying to relieve the itch left by the coarse rag.

“Too rough for your delicate skin?” Jon asked, looking at him. Robb had inherited his mother’s skin, fair and delicate. Jon, in the other hand, had a northerners’ thick skin.

“Don’t act like you enjoyed it.” Robb shot back, standing up from the stool. “I saw you grimace when they first soaked us.”

“I never said I did.” Jon replied, looking down at the stone floor. He didn’t see Robb picking up the bucket of cold water, nor the devilish smile on his face.

Jon barely had time to look up when the freezing water came pouring down on his head. He gasped, knocking the stool over after he jumped. He breathed quickly, shuddering from the cold. “You shit!” He said, glaring at Robb.

“I got a reaction from you at least.” Robb laughed, throwing him a towel. “Besides, you made me eat shit earlier.”

 

********

 

The feast had already begun by the time the two boys were ready. The sound of laughter and loud men’s voices chatting came in through the wooden door. Jon and Robb stood in front of the closed door, dressed clean and proper. “We can’t go in now.” Robb whispered to Jon. “Father will kill us for being late.”

“You mean he’ll kill you.” Jon replied, smirking at him. “You’re the heir to Winterfell, I’m a bastard. No one expects a bastard.”

“Right now, I wish I were a bastard.” Robb joked, smiling nervously.

Jon opened the door to the room. “No, you don’t.” He muttered, going inside.

Robb followed Jon through the sides of the halls, trying to disappear the way he always did. Huge, bearded men sat around the tables, eating and chatting excitedly with leaner men dressed in fancy southerner clothes. The music and light filled the room, but Robb couldn’t enjoy it.

They were halfway through the hall when Ned Stark spotted them. “Robb, what are you doing back there?” He asked, making everyone look back at the two boys.

Robb stood still, hiding the redness in his cheeks when everyone looked at him. “I’m sorry, father.” He said, gesturing to Jon besides him. “We didn’t mean to be late.”

Catelyn’s eyes were glued to Jon, glaring at him with hatred. Jon tried not to look at her, instead looking at the floor, but he could feel her eyes on him. She never wanted him around during public events. She felt as having him there in front of their guest was an insult to her and everyone else. Reason why Jon wanted nothing more than to go to his seat in the side of the room and wait until the feast was over.

“Come here.” Ned ordered, calling Robb over.

Robb gave Jon a last nervous look before going to the table, quickly taking his seat besides his family.

Jon turned around, eager to blend into the crowd. Their guest had another idea. “So, is this the bastard of Winterfell?” The lord asked, rather loudly.

A stunned silence fell over the room, the loud conversations turned to nervous whispers.

At the table, Catelyn clenched her fists, glaring down at her plate. Jon couldn’t move, looking down at the floor. He could hear the conversations around, asking about him and who his mother was. He tried to ignore them. Jon looked up and his eyes met his father’s. Ned Stark had a hard set face, hidden behind a dark beard. And yet, Jon could see the guilt in his eyes. Jon was his greatest shame, after all. The living proof of his betrayal to his lawful wife.

“This is Jon Snow.” Ned introduced him, his voice tight.

“My lord.” Jon bowed, his voice almost inaudible. He looked at the man, enduring the mocking smile on his face. Jon’s face remained completely still, locked in his permanent brood.

“Well, if it weren’t standing in front of me, I wouldn’t believe Ned Stark really kept a bastard in his home.” The lord added. The slurring in his voice gave away his drunkenness, and his indiscretion was a telltale sign of his southern upbringing. Northern lords knew better than to inquire in such topic. “And yet, there it is.”

Jon nods, keeping his head down. His eyes kept drifting to his empty chair, desperate for the moment he could go.

Ned watched in silence, pained at the desperate gleam in the boy’s eyes. “Sit down, Jon.” He ordered.

The boy gave him a grateful nod, and was out of their sight faster than a shadow.

Jon dropped down on the chair, breathing out in relief. He never spoke a word after that, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him. He didn’t eat either, his stomach still turning from the horror of that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

The chatter died down after the men’s stomachs were filled with warm food. The lords spoke calmly, going from seriousness to laughter in mere seconds. Robb sat at the table next to his father, listening intently as he negotiated some terms with their guest. The man had just recently been named lord of his home, and he showed it in the arrogance that usually accompanies new titles. He had two sons around Robb’s age, a pair rowdy boys who couldn’t sit still for the life of them. They were tall and lean, with light hair and blue eyes. Southerners through and through. Robb couldn’t stand them. They had nothing fun to say during dinner, they just talked about their father’s new position. It bored him. Robb would much rather have sat with Jon and talked about hunting and fighting, but that could not be.

His mother’s hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. “Robb, why don’t you take our two guests outside.” She proposed. “Show them around.”

He nodded, cursing in his head.

The walk turned out to be as fun as Robb had imagined, which meant no fun whatsoever. The two boys only seemed concerned about the size of the castle in comparison to theirs, and how many servants they had.

Robb couldn’t care less about those things.

“Is it true your father has a valyrian sword?” One of them suddenly asked.

Robb turned around to look at them. “Yes, Ice.” He nodded.

“And is it going to be yours when you become Lord of Winterfell?”

“I suppose.” Robb frowned.

“I wish grandfather had a valyrian sword.” The youngest boy sighed. “Then father would have allowed us to use it. Does your father let you?”

Robb took a moment to answer, thinking of the huge sword his father always brought to the executions. “I’ve never wielded it.” He admitted, doubting he could even lift it.

“Well, that’s a shame.” The boy sighed.

They were near the stables when Robb spotted Jon, sitting on top of a pile of hay. He kept his legs pressed to his chest, looking around quietly.

Robb quickly headed towards him, the two boys behind. “I didn’t see you leave.” Robb frowned, stopping in front of him.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Jon replied, eyeing the two boys behind Robb.

Both of them looked at Jon like he had a third eye, snickering and whispering to each other. Robb didn’t notice. “Well, come with us.” He proposed.

“I don’t know.” Jon muttered, looking at Robb pleadingly.

“Please, do come.” One of the boys urged him. “We had never met someone like you.”

The mocking behind those words was clear, but it went right over Robb’s head. Jon looked at Robb’s pleading eyes and sighed. He nodded, giving up, and got off the hay.

The four boys wandered around the castle a while longer, Robb talking in front to the two lordlings and Jon a few steps behind, completely silent.

The tour came to an end in front of the sparring ground where Jon and Robb had been practicing earlier. Robb picked up a wooden sword left from their last session and looked at the others. “Do you know how to use one?” He asked.

“Of course we do.” One of the brothers replied, snatching it from Robb.

“Let’s spar then.” Robb replied, picking up another sword.

They were really no competition to Robb, a competent swordsman for his age. The two boys slipped and fell on the mud, swinging their swords aimlessly. Soon, they were more muddy than Jon and Robb had ever been. Jon watched from the side, smiling everytime Robb knocked one of the children down yet again.

Robb helped the eldest up. “That was a good try.” He said, hiding his laughter.

The lordling wiped the mud from his pants. “Thank you.” he nodded, his cheeks a tinge of red.

“Ready to go again?” Robb asked.

The boy’s blue eyes flickered with malice when they landed on Jon, watching from the corner. “Does he know how to fight?” He asked, nodding towards him.

Robb frowned, looking at Jon. “Yes, why?” He asked.

“I want to fight him.” The boy said in an entitled voice.

Robb offered Jon a sword.

Jon stared at it hesitantly, looking back from the sword to Robb. Robb gave him a reassuring look and placed the hilt in his hand. “Show him what’s real swordplay.” He whispered into Jon’s ear before walking away.

It wasn’t a fight. The boy threw a few swings at best before Jon knocked him over, even faster than Robb had. Robb and the remaining sibling laughed after the boy was left lying face up in the mud. “The bastard beat you!” The youngest mocked him.

The lordling’s muddy face turned a bright shade of red, his eyes firing up. Jon watched him silently, his sword hanging at his side. Robb laughed too, walking up to Jon and patting his shoulder.

“You have a strong bastard, Robb.” The boy said, sitting up. From the moment he spoke, there was a cruelty in his tone. Jon knew what was coming as soon as he heard it, but Robb didn’t see it so quickly. “It reminds me of one we have back at home. He works in our stables, shoveling horse shit.”

Robb frowned, turning to the boy. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that your father had a good idea bringing the bastard home.” The boy continued, wiping the mud from his face coldly. “He is a good toy, good for sparring and training. He must be a fun pet for you.”

The younger brother laughed, looking at Jon. “perhaps I’ll make the shit shovelling bastard spar with me back home, and if I break him I’ll just get another.” The older continued, standing up and looking at Jon right in the eye. “There are always bastards to spare.”

Jon’s facade fell, his cheeks flushing and his eyes becoming misty. He stood there in silence next to Robb, listening to the boy. He looked down at the mud to hide his face, swinging the sword in his hand lazily.

Robb snapped out of it, grabbing the boy by the shirt and lifting him off the ground. “Say that again and I will-”

“It’s alright.” Jon said, stopping him. Robb turned to look at him, the fury in his eyes turning to pity.

“He can’t say that.” Robb insisted.

“It’s alright.” Jon insisted, his voice barely a whisper. He didn’t want Robb to get in trouble, and he didn’t want to be the cause for that trouble. Robb’s mother would surely blame him if anything happened to any of the boys. He couldn’t take the cold fury the woman would unleash on him, more than normal at least. So, as much as it hurt him, he swallowed the words the boy just threw at him.

Robb hesitated, studying Jon’s face. Finally he nodded, backing away from the boy with a glare.

Jon turned to defeated lordling. “Perhaps a rematch, my lord.” he proposed, his voice close to shaking.

The boy smiled, fixing his shirt. “Let’s go.”

Robb knew Jon didn’t even try when the other boy disarmed him. He frowned as Jon bent down to pick up the sword, enduring the boy’s gloating and insults with a steely look as he whacked him in the back with the side of his sword.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon changed out of his clothes, laying them carefully on his room’s chair. He winced when he touched a forming bruise in the spot the lordling had hit him. Thankfully, they would be gone by tomorrow. He had never met such entitled children. Of course Robb could have his moments, but never like that. Those boys were filled with pride, reason why he decided to let them beat him, as much as it wounded his pride. Better not to start any trouble, and nothing can start trouble like a man’s wounded pride.

The sound of the door made him look up. A pair of big grey eyes were peeking from behind the door, fixed on him. Jon sighed, looking down. “You should be in bed, Arya.” He said as the girl shot out from behind the door and into his room.

Arya climbed onto his bed, jumping up and down in her nightgown. “I’m not tired.” She explained, dropping down.

Jon smiled. Out of all the Stark children, Arya was perhaps the one he felt closest too. She was small and lean like him, with dark hair and dark eyes. Not only that, but they always shared the notion of what it felt like to be an outsider. Arya was rowdy and loud, restless, all traits deemed unfavorable for girls. They were both problems in the eyes of most.

Jon loved her.

He turned around to put away his boots.

“I heard what those boys said to you earlier.” She said, looking at him. “You shouldn’t have let them win, you should’ve beaten them.”

“If I had, they would’ve gotten me in trouble.” Jon replied, sitting down on the bed next to her. “My pride could take it.”

“Mine wouldn’t.” Arya sighed, looking at him.

Jon chuckled, rubbing the sore spot in his back.

Arya stared at him in silence, a very serious look in her round face. “But you are not, you know that, right?” She asked, leaning on his arm.

“What?” He wrapped his arm over her shoulders.

“A toy.” She frowned. “You’re our brother.”

Jon looked at her, smiling affectionately. “I’m your _half_ brother.” He corrected.

“I don’t care,” She insisted, a hard look on her face. “I like you better than the others. Robb is too loud sometimes, Bran is too childish, and Sansa… she just annoys me.”

He didn’t really know how to respond, a flood of affection filling his chest, warming it up. Jon smiled shyly, holding her closer and messing up her hair. “Come on, it’s time for you to go to bed.” He said.

Arya laid back down on the bed. “Well, I don’t want to.” She protested. “You can’t make me.”

Jon sighed, lying down next to her. “What if I promise to stay until you fall asleep?”

The girl thought about it carefully, looking at the canopy of the bed. “Alright.” She gave up after a while.

Jon picked her up, carrying her out of the room and down the hall. Arya’s bed was already undone, the covers thrown away from when she got up the first time. Jon laid her down carefully, fixing the covers over her. He looked at her. “Now sleep.” He said, kissing her forehead.

Arya nodded, turning on her side.

Jon sat at the foot of the bed, resting on one of the bedposts. His eyelids were heavy, he felt very drowsy.

“You gave him a good beating.” Arya yawned. “That’s what made him angry.”

He smiled. “Arya, go to sleep.” He shifted on the bed.

“I will if you promise to play with me tomorrow.” She said, giggling mischievously.

“Aye, I promise.” He nodded.

It didn’t take long for her to doze off afterwards. Jon stayed there for a few more minutes, listening to his sister’s deep breaths. Once he was sure she was asleep, he stood up. He went up to Arya’s side and left a soft kiss on her temple. “Goodnight.” he said.

He closed the door, careful not to make any noise. He hadn’t taken four steps towards his room when Lady Catelyn appeared right in front of him. Jon tried to walk past her as fast as possible, but she stopped him. “Why were you Arya’s room?” She asked harshly. “She was supposed to be asleep already.”

“She came to my room…” he explained, looking down. “I was just bringing her back.”

Catelyn opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when she saw Ned walking towards them. Instead, she glared at the boy. Jon hurried away, going past his father at full speed, the warmth of Arya’s presence already disappearing from his chest.

Ned stopped him. “Goodnight, Jon.” He said softly, looking at him with pity.

Jon just nodded and slipped away, hiding his face from him. Ned looked back at his wife, her eyes still glued to Jon. The amount of hatred in that stare was indescribable, it made his heart ache.


	4. Chapter 4

A large weight fell on Jon’s chest, waking him up. He opened his eyes, sitting up with a start. The light from a candle near his face hurt his eyes, and he rubbed the sleep out of them. Once his vision cleared, he saw two figures hovering over him. 

“What the hell, Robb?” He asked, recognizing Robb’s blue eyes over him. Jon turned to the window, the sky was the deep blue that signalled the approach of dawn. “The bloody sun isn’t up yet!”

“Now, what does father said about cursing in front of his girls?” Robb asked, looking down at Arya next to him. 

Jon sat up. “What are you doing in my room?” 

His question was answered when he saw the large sword in Robb’s hand. “Is that… father’s sword?” he asked, pulling the covers off of him and jumping off the bed.

Robb smiled, showing him the valyrian steel blade.

“How did you get it?” Jon asked. “I thought he always kept it next to his bed.”

Arya laughed, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “I can be quiet, very quiet.” She whispered. 

Jon sighed, shaking his head. “What are you going to do with it anyways?” He asked, sitting back down on the bed. “They’re going to notice you have it.”

“That’s why we’re going to the cliffs.” Robb explained. “It’s odd to see people there. We can use it there.”

“We?” Jon repeated, frowning. “Why would I go?”

“I need someone to spar with.” Robb answered. The southern lordling’s words played back in Jon’s head, but he pushed them aside when Robb grabbed his shoulders. “Come on, it will be fun.”

Jon sighed deeply, closing his eyes. He’s going to regret this. 

“Let me get dressed.”

 

******

 

Robb struggled to even lift Ice from the ground. The valyrian sword was longer than him, at least a feet taller. Jon waited patiently, holding a few things in place for Robb to cut. He watched the boy struggle, staggering back and forth under the weight of the sword. Arya also watched, smiling from the rock she sat at.

“You know,” Jon started, looking down at the set of branches and leaves they were using as target. “Your first execution as Lord of Winterfell will be a little embarrassing if you can’t lift the sword.”

Arya bursted out laughing, doubling over in the rock. Robb stopped trying for a moment, glaring at Jon. “I almost got it.” He insisted.

Robb took a deep breath and pulled up, the sword flew up, the momentum of the pull throwing it over Robb’s head and out of his reach. They watched the sword slide through the floor and fall down the cliff. The three children ran to the side, looking down in horror.

The sword had gotten stuck in some roots, barely holding on. “What do we do?!” Arya exclaimed. “They’ll kill us if we lose father’s sword!”

Robb didn’t answer, his mind rushing in an attempt to come up with a plan. 

“I’ll get it.” Jon said, taking off his coat and dropping it to the ground. 

“You can’t!” Robb replied, grabbing his arm.

“It’s valyrian steel.” Jon insisted, his eyes glued to the sword as he sat down on the ledge. 

“Still, it’s not worth your life!” Robb shouted.

Jon stood still for a moment, looking straight into Robb’s eyes. “I’m just a Snow.” He muttered before breaking free from his grasp and climbing down. 

Robb was too stunned to stop him, instead watching in silence as Jon headed down. Arya knelt at the side of the cliff, looking back from Jon to the river rushing below. Her brother moved carefully, testing every ledge and root before putting his weight on it. His fingers hurt from holding on, and he struggled to keep himself from looking at the river. The sound of the rushing water sent waves of goosebumps up his back, making his heart race. It would be a nasty fall. 

He kept his eyes on the sword just a few feet below, trying not to think about anything else. 

Finally, he reached it. It was heavy, very heavy, but Jon managed to hold it tight. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he climbed back up, some it getting in his eyes. He blinked the itch away, holding Ice tightly with one hand whilst trying to climb with the other. Robb and Arya watched from above, their faces peeking from the edge. Jon looked up at them, giving them one of his shy smiles. 

It didn’t make them feel any less scared. 

Once Jon was high enough, he lifted the sword by the blade. Robb got a hold of the grip, pulling it to safety with Arya’s help.

Jon’s arms trembled with exhaustion, sweat rolling down his forehead and into his eyes. His fingers were cramped, his palm raw. He rested his face against the stone, breathing deeply. His heart beat violently, feeling a pit in his stomach. The sound of the river roaring below him made Jon’s stomach turn. He looked up, resuming the climb. He was almost at the top again when Robb appeared.

He reached his arm down to Jon. “Grab my hand.” He said.

Jon held his arm up, relying on his feet to stay on the rock. He was only a few inches away from Robb, their fingers barely brushing. Out of reflex, Jon boosted himself up. 

The thin root Jon was resting his right leg on didn’t hold, snapping in two. 

Jon felt the emptiness in his stomach as he plunged down. He thought he heard a scream before hitting his head, but he wasn’t sure. Then, it all went dark. 

Robb watched, paralyzed, as Jon rolled down the side of the cliff and into the water. His body caused a great splash, soaking the rocks near the edge. Arya screamed, crawling to the edge. Robb barely had time to pull her back from jumping after Jon. “Arya don’t!” He held her by one arm while looking out the edge. Jon was floating face down on the water, drifting helplessly downstream. 

There was no time to lose.

He knelt in front of his sister, making her look at him. “We have to help him!” She insisted, trying to break free. 

“Yes.” Robb said, his voice taking a commanding tone. “I’ll try to get him out of the river, you need to go get father.”

For a moment, Robb looked older to Arya, his face stern and decisive. He looked like a proper lord. She nodded. “Good.” Robb said. “Now go!”

They parted ways: Arya ran back to the castle, and Robb went downstream.


	5. Chapter 5

Arya didn’t stop until she reached the castle. Her heart hammered in her chest, the tears falling freely down her cheeks. Her skirt made her trip and fall, but every time she got up and kept running. By the time she was inside the walls of Winterfell, it was all torn and covered in mud. 

Every time she blinked, she saw Jon’s body floating in the river. Horrible thoughts crawled into her mind, could he be dead? The thought brought more tears to her eye. She didn’t want to lose her favorite brother… who would she go to at night then?

In a panic, Arya ran from room to room, looking for her father. People jumped out of the way, looking at her with confusion and shock. She found the rest of her family in her parent’s room. Sansa and her mother were sewing in front of the fireplace while father sat at his desk. 

Sansa and mother looked up in horror when they saw her come in, all ragged and dirty. Her father stood up, rushing to her. “Arya, what’s wrong?” He asked, kneeling in front of her.

Catelyn put down her sewing, as did Sansa. They all waited for her to speak, but Arya could not. A knot in her throat had trapped her words, threatening to bring forth more tears. She still hadn’t really processed what happened, she was too stunned to make a sound. “We were playing and…” Her voice was barely understandable, shaking violently. Just speaking made more tears come, and she sobbed. “And Jon… he…”

At the mention of the boy’s name, Catelyn frowned and went back to her sewing. 

Shock flashed on her father’s eyes, his grip on her shoulders tightening. What happened to Jon?” He asked, his face pale. 

She swallowed back, collecting herself. “He fell down a cliff.” Her father’s eyes went wide, looking at her in shock. “The river carried him away. Robb went after him, but he sent me to get help.”

Her father was completely speechless, looking at her. His face was white as paper, his eyes glazed over. 

“Father, he wasn’t moving.” Arya cried. “What if the fall killed him?”

Ned didn’t answer, looking down for a moment. “Where?” He asked, regaining control.

“Near the woods.” Arya explained, taking his hand. “I’ll take you.”

Sansa watched her father and sister leave anxiously. She looked up at her mother, looking for a sign to what to do next. Catelyn Stark sat still, sewing with a cold look in her face.  Sansa followed suit, turning back to her sewing. 

 

*******

 

Robb kept his eyes glued to the bulk of clothes that was his brother as he drifted downstream. He left Ice back in the edge, too heavy for him to carry. The only concern in his mind at the moment was Jon. 

He jumped over roots and rocks, always careful not to lose him. Every moment that passed filled Robb with dread. Jon hadn’t moved, nor breathed, since the fall. Terror clawed at Robb’s chest, feeling tears sting his eyes. He wanted nothing more than father to be there, he would be able to fix this. 

But father wasn’t there, only him. 

Robb was too caught up in his thoughts to see a rock on the floor. He tripped, falling into the mud next to the river. By the time he was back on his feet, Jon was nowhere to be found. Robb looked around frantically, running farther down the river. “Jon!” He called.

The thought of losing Jon was too much. Robb couldn’t really imagine what he would do without him. He’d only have Theon to talk to, and he really wasn’t much of a partner for sparring or riding. But above all, he wouldn’t have his brother. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. 

He finally saw him, stuck on a cluster of rocks at the other side of the river. Without thinking, Robb jumped into the freezing water. He cursed loudly, the cold water stinging his skin like needles. 

The current was strong. 

Robb struggled to cross the stream, the river pushing him back relentlessly. He kept swimming, his body already numb from the cold. His limbs felt like lead, making it more and more difficult to keep up with the current. Robb grunted, looking at Jon just a few meters away. 

The cold and the effort kept Robb from noticing the arrival of more men. He didn’t hear the splashing water behind as they got in. 

Robb could almost reach Jon, his arm outstretched towards him. 

He was pulled away in the last minute, a strong arm wrapping over his chest. “Don’t!” He protested, thrashing around. “Let me go!”

Eddard Stark held his son tight, quickly handing him off to the man behind him. “Get him out of the water before he freezes.” he ordered before turning back to Jon.

Ned’s heart skipped a beat. Jon was floating face down, completely motionless. The water around his head had turned a deep pink, the blood dissipating around the rocks. Ned grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, holding his breath as he looked at the boy’s face. 

Jon let out a deep cough after a moment, drawing in a deep breath. Ned sighed in relief, holding him above the water close to his chest. Jon’s lips were blue, his face filled with cuts and bruises. Blood poured down his temple and into the water from a large wound in his head. His eyes were open, looking around aimlessly. “Jon.” Ned called him gently, holding him.

Jon’s eyes met his, and Ned couldn’t help but see in them another pair of tired dark eyes staring back at him from a bed in Dorne. A minute later, Jon closed his eyes, his head falling back.

Ned swam back, holding Jon tightly. He held the boy’s head close on his shoulder, resting it on his neck in the manner he would carry a small child. Robb sat on a rock, Theon’s cape wrapped over his shoulders. Arya stood beside him as they looked at Jon’s lifeless body. 

They watched as his father gave Jon to his men at the shore, a worried look in his face. Jon’s head was bleeding profusely, half his face covered in red. Arya’s eyes were glued to the blood, following its path down Jon’s face to his chin and chest. Fear clawed at her chest when she saw how pale and limp her brother was. Robb pulled her into his chest, forcing her to look away.

Robb’s heart was beating really fast, his hands shaking as he held Arya’s head. Still, he did not cry. He kept looking at Jon as his father got out of the water and picked him up. A wave of shock rolled through him when his father lifted Jon up, his limbs and head falling back like a rag doll. Jon’s eyes were half open, rolled up in his head, the whites staring at Robb. 

He felt a knot in his throat, seeing the looks the other men were giving Jon. Even his father seemed doubtful.

Ned looked at Jon for a second, his face hardening. He turned to Theon. “Take Robb and Arya back to the castle.” He ordered before going to his horse. Without another word, he got on and rode away.


	6. Chapter 6

Jon’s hand hung limply at his side as Ned carried him into his room. His face was as white as the sheets of his bed as Ned laid him down. Ned tried to wipe the blood from his temple, but soon more was pooling on the pillow. Eddard watched helplessly as his nephew’s face lost the color it had left. He placed his hand on Jon’s chest, feeling a warm liquid on it. He ripped the shirt off, revealing a deep cut above the stomach and a gruesome bruise on his chest. The way his chest rose and fell wasn’t natural, too ragged and strained.

Another servant came in, looking at the scene in horror. Ned looked at her. “Go get the maester!” He screamed. “Be quick!”

The woman hurried away, her steps echoing on the stone floors. 

Ned turned back to Jon. The pillow under his head was soaked in blood, the sheets around his torso quickly turning red as well. He took the boy’s hand in his, feeling the icy cold skin. He breathed deeply, pressing his head to his chest. Jon’s heartbeat was weak, his breathing becoming more and more ragged. 

There was little time.

“Where is the maester?!” He screamed at nothing, looking frantically around the room.

Jon’s sheets were now completely bloody, covering his stomach. His arms were soaked in blood, his face pale as he laid back on the pillow. An all too familiar scene for Ned. “No.” He muttered, pulling the boy up to his chest. Jon’s arms were limp as Ned held him. He held the boy’s head to his neck, pressing his mouth to Jon’s ear.

He was all he had left of Lyanna, along with a promise.

“I promised I’d keep you safe.” He whispered to Jon, very low. “I promised your mother I’d look after you… Aegon, please.”

Ned didn’t hear the steps that came to the room, nor did he see Catelyn watching from the door. The sight before her pierced her heart, filling her with deep rage. Ned held the bastard close, whispering him words she could not hear. She stayed there frozen, watching in a livid paralysis. 

“Gods, save him.” Ned prayed, loud enough for her to hear. “Don’t let the boy die, not like this.”

The next words, she could not hear, and she didn’t want to either.

“I got the maester!” The servant announced, coming into the room.

Ned settled Jon back on the bed, moving aside for maester Luwin to treat him. Once he stood, he noticed his wife in the doorway. She glared at him, her face stern and eyes filled with tears. Before he could do anything, she walked away. 

Ned sighed deeply, falling into one of the chairs in Jon’s room. He leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes. His heart felt torn, he felt drained. The weight of his sister’s secret was sometimes too heavy to bear. That was one of those moments.

He opened his eyes and found two young faces peering inside the room in horror. Robb still had Theon’s coat, and kept one of his arms wrapped over Arya’s shoulders. They were both looking at Jon, lying still on the bed as the maester worked to save him. Arya allowed her tears to fall freely, but Robb was holding them back. The boy kept a hard face, but his eyes were watery. 

Ned stood up, walking towards them. “Come on, let maester Luwin work.” He said, guiding them away from the room.

“Is Jon going to die?” Arya asked.

Robb winced. 

“I don’t know.” Ned admitted in a low voice. “Now it’s up for the gods to decide.”

Arya sobbed, and Robb looked down. Ned picked Arya up, letting her cry on his shoulder. 

 

******

Some time later, the maester came into the room. Ned sat on a chair awaiting news next to his two children. Sansa, Catelyn and little Bran were nowhere to be found. Most likely their mother had taken them elsewhere until the whole mess was over. 

The lord rose from his seat. 

“Lord Stark,” Maester Luwin said, bowing slightly. “If you could please follow me.”

Ned nodded and followed the man back to Jon’s room.

The boy was lying on the bed, his head and chest wrapped in bandages. Ned’s heart stopped, fearing how still Jon was. He couldn’t breathe again until he saw the pelts on top of his chest rise and fall slowly. 

“The fall would’ve killed him were not for the water.” The maester explained. “It saved his life.”

Ned nodded. “He will be alright then?”

The old man shuffled on his feet. “He suffered a significant head injury on the way down.” He explained, moving closer to the bed as they looked at Jon. “We won’t know how bad the damage to his brain is until he wakes up.”

Ned pursed his lips. “Very well.” He said. “Thank you.”

The maester bowed and left the room. Ned stood next to Jon’s bed, staring at the boy with apprehension. Hits to the head could leave children dumb, or could wipe their heads clean from any knowledge, or worse yet… could put them in an eternal sleep. 

He sat down on the bed, cupping the boy’s face. Jon groaned softly, scrunching his face slightly.

“Is Jon…” Robb’s voice came from the doorway.

“He’s alive.” Ned answered.

Both Arya and Robb breathed out in relief, a huge weight lifting off their shoulders. The relief faded as soon as their father turned to look at them with a harsh look. “Now, why did you have my sword?” He asked. “What happened?”

“We were playing with Ice when it fell down the cliff.” Robb explained, looking down at the floor. “Jon tried to grab it, that’s why he fell.”

“And why did you think you could take Ice?” Ned asked, stepping away from the bed. 

Robb looked down. “I don’t know, I just wanted to see how it felt to use it.” 

“The sword is bigger than you still, Robb.” Ned replied. “One day you will wield it as Lord of Winterfell, but not today.”

The boy looked down and nodded, taking his father’s words to heart. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. “I didn’t know this could happen.”

“Of course not, but it did.” Ned continued, gesturing to Jon. “Jon could’ve died today… he could still die.”

Robb looked at his brother, still in his bed. “I won’t do it again.”

“Aye, you won’t.” Ned placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “But let this be a lesson: Ice is not a toy, and your actions, even those that seem harmless, can have dire consequences.”

Robb nodded, looking over at Jon. “Will he be alright?”

Ned sighed deeply. “We don’t know.”

The boy nodded again, his face gloomy. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Three days and two nights had passed since the fall, and there was still no sign of recovery in Jon. Robb could see his father’s anguished expression when the maester came to see him earlier. “Jon is going to die.” Sansa had said.

“Don’t be stupid.” Arya replied. “He will not.” The three Stark children sat together in the main hall of the castle, huddled around the fire. Sansa enjoyed their company, it was rare to find Robb inside, or for Arya to sit still. However none of the children had had any motivation to go outside those last few days. Robb had no one to spar with, and Arya had no one to watch sparring. 

Sansa looked at her sister, an icy look in her eyes. “I’m being realistic. Jon will most likely not survive much longer.” She insisted. “Perhaps it’s for the best, since-”

“That’s what mother told you?” Robb asked, turning to look at her. The pain he had felt those last few days was tearing him to pieces. If it weren’t for him, Jon wouldn’t have gotten out of bed, and he wouldn’t have fallen. It was his fault. 

“What do you care?” Sansa shot back, looking down with flushed cheeks.

“I care because he’s our brother!” Robb answered. In moments like that, Robb’s voice seemed to morph into something else. His pubescent voice somehow sounded deeper, more commanding. “And so should you!”

“He’s our  _ half _ -brother.” Sansa corrected.  

Arya glared at her sister. “Maybe, but I’d much rather have him as a brother than you.” She spitted. 

Sansa sat up on her chair, glaring at Arya. She turned to Robb for support, but he had gone back to looking into the fireplace in silence. Instead, she settled back on her chair and continued sewing. She tried to draw out her indignation with every stitch of the needle. That comment cut deep, even if Arya didn’t notice. 

Her thoughts went back to Jon. She had seen him only once since his fall, and it was only by chance. She had been walking down the hallway when he saw his door was open. She knew her mother didn’t want her in there, but she wasn’t around. So, in she went.

The room had the windows open, the light filling it completely. However, the room felt cold and heavy. Sansa hesitated before taking her first steps towards the bed, fearing what she may encounter there. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined: Jon was covered in pelts up to his chest, his skin pale and head wrapped in bloody bandages. His hair stuck up from the top of the bandaging, the dark locks standing out against his pale skin. He looked so small and vulnerable that Sansa felt the need to fix his covers, a wave of affection washing over her. 

As he looked at him, she couldn’t help but be glad he had made it. She knew she shouldn’t, he was the living proof of her father’s dishonor, but she did. She had tried to imagine what it would have been like if Jon hadn’t survived. Arya and Robb would be destroyed, her father would be too perhaps. Her mother, however, would’ve been happy, she supposed. 

She didn’t really know how she’d felt about it if it happened.

“Children, it’s time to eat.” Their mother’s voice called. Catelyn stood near the door, little Bran safely held on her hip. “Come on now.” She called.

Sansa carefully put away her needles and went to her mother. Arya took longer, dragging herself off the floor and sulking her way to the others. Robb didn’t move, his eyes locked on the flames. He had been oddly quiet those last few days, almost as much as Jon generally was. Sansa didn’t like that version of her brother: quiet and reserved, she liked his energetic and talkative persona better. 

“Robb,” Catelyn called again, bouncing Bran on her hip. “Come on.”

The boy walked away from the fire, going past her mother and sisters without a word. Their mother looked at him anxiously, watching him walk ahead of them. “Come on girls.” She said with a tight smile, trying to light up the mood.

 

*******

 

The dinner was insipid. Robb sat in his chair, quietly listening to his mother and Sansa as they talked about their daily occurrences. The topics were absurd and boring: just sewing, dresses, and other women’s talk. It was uncharacteristic of his mother, who normally opted on asking his father and him about their day. She had adopted the new custom after it became clear that neither Robb nor his father were in the mood of talking. Catelyn had taken the job of talking for all them. 

Underneath the chatting, the tension was clear. Robb knew his mother was just trying to hide it. And it all came from a single thing: an empty chair at the far end of the table.

Jon wasn’t allowed to sit with them in banquets, but he did eat with them in normal occasion. You wouldn’t expect his absence to really be felt, after all, Jon had maybe muttered five words at dinner in his entire life. He only sat there and ate, listening quietly and trying to avoid Catelyn’s stare. 

And yet, it was loud as a drum. 

Her mother’s nervous chatting was an effect of it, coming from her attempt to bury the weariness of the incident. Arya, who usually used any available moment to try and piss Sansa off sat still, playing with her food quietly. His father wasn’t much of a talker either, but he usually told one or two stories and laughed at what the rest had to say. Now he just listened in silence, eating slowly. Just one of the odd behaviors he had developed over the last days. 

Robb’s father seemed lost. He would listen to his men in a stern silence, and give cold and stiff answers. Even more strange was how much time he had spent down in the crypts. No one knew where he disappeared to until Robb found him in front of aunt Lyanna’s grave, deep in thought. A strong tremor had crawled up Robb’s spine at the thought of his father considering where to bury Jon.

Another thing bothered Robb, eating away at him since the moment Jon said it. They all knew Jon was of lower birth because of his illegitimate status, but Robb never really stopped to think about it. Yes, he sometimes teased Jon for it when they were younger, but he didn’t think much of it. Jon was a bastard, that was the fact. But perhaps it wasn’t as insignificant to Jon as it was to him. Robb had spent most of his time looking back on the last days before the accident, particularly the southern lord’s visit. 

The more he looked back, the more stupid he felt for not noticing. Jon actually cared about being called bastard. He tried to deny it, but somehow it all stuck to him. Perhaps he did feel like his life was worth less than theirs, that’s what many said. 

“Robb, you’ve been very quiet.” His mother said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “What’s in your mind?”

Robb looked at her for a moment and turned to his father. “Is Ice worth more than Jon’s life?” He asked, keeping a straight face. “Because he’s a bastard.”

That effectively killed all conversation in the table. Arya stopped poking her meat and looked at father, awaiting his answer. Catelyn looked down at her plate while Sansa glared at Robb.

Ned froze, the question taking him by surprise. He stared at his son. “Why would you ask that?” He muttered, shocked.

“The southern lords seemed to believe it.” Robb replied, unable to confess what Jon said. “They said there are always bastards to spare, is that true?”

“Of course it is not!” Ned replied, raising his voice. “Jon, and any other bastard, they are persons. Of course they’re worth more than any sword! You should know that, Robb!”

“Still, if one of you had to fall down the cliff it was better for it to have been him, Robb.” Sansa added, eyes glued to her plate. “His life may be worth more than a sword, but not more than any true-born son. Out of the two of you, it mattered less if Jon fell.”

Ned gripped his fists, breathing deeply. “Jon is my blood!” He bellowed, looking around the table. “And you don’t get to choose whose life is worth more, Sansa. A poor farmer may be more worthy to live than a lord in his castle, birth only gives you a name, no more than that. So no, Jon is not worth less than Ice nor anything else!”

They all sat in silence after that. Robb held his head down, a knot forming in his throat. His father sat back, breathing deeply to settle his anger. His mother held her tongue, sitting stiff in her chair. It wasn’t easy to move father to anger, but Sansa and him had just managed to do it.

“You should tell Jon that.” Arya muttered, playing with her food again. 


	8. Chapter 8

“They told us not to go into his room.” Arya whispered, standing behind Robb as he looked into Jon’s room. 

“Since when do you care about the rules?” Robb asked, frowning. He threw the door open. “Besides, we have a right to visit our brother.” He went inside, allowing Arya through before closing the door. 

Arya walked up to the bed, her heart squeezing at the sight of her brother. He laid there in silence, which would had been normal for Jon, but that silence was different. Heavier somehow. She took his hand as Robb walked behind her. She felt her eyes sting, her chest heavy. She didn’t want Jon to die, then she would really be alone. “You have to wake up.” She cried. “You promised you’d play with me… you promised.”

Robb placed his hand on Arya’s skinny shoulder. He kept his eyes on Jon, swallowing back the pain. Jon had gotten some color back, the cuts and bruises already fading, but not nearly enough. He moved Arya aside and sat at Jon’s side, completely quiet. Robb’s face was set and stern, the youthfulness of his eyes nowhere to be found. “You won’t die.” He said. “Not from that fall.”

Jon didn’t move, his chest rising and falling steadily. “You’ll wake up, and we’ll spar, and ride, and play, and…” He sighed, looking down. “Just stay. I know maybe you aren’t always happy, but you’re our brother and we don’t want to lose you.”

The door opened, and both children turned to look. Their father stood on the doorway, looking at Robb with Ice in hand. “Robb, it’s time to go.” He said. He didn’t comment on how Arya and him had disobeyed by coming into Jon’s room. Robb stood up from the bed, following his father outside. Arya stayed in the room with Jon, holding his hand. 

Any other day, Robb would’ve been thrilled to go with his father to see him exercise his duties as warden of the North. This time it was a deserted from the Night’s Watch. Robb should’ve been excited, but he wasn't. He mounted behind his father, the party quiet as they rode to the place. Normally, he’d be talking to Jon now, or their father would be talking to both of them. Jon always listened in silence, seldom adding to the conversation. Robb had always teased him about his muteness, but after what happened in the ledge it only made him sad.

They made it to the block and found a young man with a very long beard in chains. His father got off his horse, taking Ice with him. Robb dismounted too, taking a stand besides Theon. The deserter was placed on the block, his head resting on the bloody wood. His eyes were open, but Robb couldn’t see any emotion in them. It unsettled him, the empty look in that’s stranger’s eyes. He looked directly at Robb just as his father brought down his sword. His face was the last thing that man ever saw. 

Ned Stark wiped the blood from his sword before putting it away. Two men took away the body and head of the deserter, dragging them away from the block. Robb walked up to his father’s side, waiting for his next command. “We’re done here.” His father announced. “Let’s ride back to Winterfell.”

Theon rode next to Robb, talking about the man’s odd behavior. “He seemed dead before the sword came down.” He commented, snickering. “That wall really fries those men’s brains.”

Robb didn’t answer, his eyes glued to the ledge overlooking the river as they rode by. He diverted from the group, going to the spot Jon had fallen from. He could hear the sound of the root snapping and Arya’s scream. The look of shock in Jon’s face was embedded in him, the way his eyes widened when he plunged down. 

“It wasn’t all your fault.” His father rode up to his side, looking down at the river. “Jon should’ve known not to climb down.”

He sighed, looking down. “It’s not just that.” Robb said. 

Ned took a deep breath. “Does it have to do with what you asked me at dinner?” 

Robb nodded.

“I don’t understand why you asked, even if those boys said it, you should know that Jon is worth more than a bloody sword.” Ned looked at his son.

“They aren’t the only ones who believed it.” Robb muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to stop him, I told him it wasn’t worth it for him to give his life for the sword.” Robb’s voice was low and heavy. “But he looked at me, and he said ‘I’m just a Snow.’ I was too shocked to react, and then he fell. I couldn’t believe he was willing to die for a sword.”

His father looked down, his face hardening. Something in his eyes was foreign to Robb, a twinge of guilt maybe. He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it either.” His father said, grabbing Ice’s hilt. They stayed there a while longer, listening to the river. 

Robb kept glancing at his father, waiting for him to say something. There was deep sadness in him, he could see it. Something else clung to him, an air of guilt and regret. After all, Jon was  _ his _ bastard. He brought the baby home.

His father gave Jon all Robb had: the same education and training, food and clothes, all his needs were fulfilled. And yet… he lacked so much that Ned couldn’t give him. Jon couldn’t sit with them in banquets, instead sitting at the side. He was seen as a curiosity by their guests as the single stain in Ned Stark’s honor. He never had a mother, and Robb’s own mother probably wished he never woke up. It must be lonely to live like that way, so close to a family and yet not a pat of it. 

It was in that moment that, for the first time, that Robb realized just how unfair life was. 

Jon didn’t ask to born a bastard, he didn’t ask to be brought back to the castle. He never asked to be known as the bastard of Winterfell, the stain in the Stark’s honor. He was just a boy who wanted to be a part of a family, their family, but had resigned himself to merely watch from the outside. Robb felt guilty, remembering the times he would tease Jon about never being able to inherit anything. He didn’t realize it hurt him. Perhaps no one realized how much Jon actually took the taunts and jokes to heart, to the point he truly believed he was worthless.

And all his suffering came from the sins of his parents. Neither his father, nor Jon’s mother, wherever she may be, had to pay for what they did. His father wasn’t loathed by his mother, he sat at the table with his family, he got to have a name. Jon didn’t get any of that, and he never would.

He felt angry. It wasn’t fair, and he couldn’t change it. It was truly frustrating. Robb pulled his horse, riding away from his father. Ned looked at him, sensing the anger in him.

Robb didn’t stop until he reached the stables.


	9. Chapter 9

Ned was exhausted. He had barely slept the last couple of days, and the tension in the household didn’t help either. Robb was eerily quiet, sulking in the corner in a way not even Jon had done before. Arya and Sansa were relentless in their fighting, constantly arguing over everything. Catelyn was angry too, he could see it every time maester Luwin came to update him on Jon’s condition. He didn’t say a word, but he had a good guess that his wife wanted the boy to die. The only one who was normal was little Bran, far too young to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

He hadn’t gone to see Jon since the fall, in part to appease Cat’s anger, and in part because he was too busy. It also could do with how stressed he was about the whole situation. He had promised Lyanna to look after the boy, to keep him safe. If her son died for a sword under Ned’s care she would never forgive him. He wouldn’t forgive himself either.

It wasn’t until much later after they returned to the castle that Ned went to see Jon. He didn’t mean to, at first, but then he saw the maester go inside and followed him in. The room was just like the last time, except for the lack of blood in the pillow and covers. Maester Luwin seemed surprised to see him, turning to look at him before checking the boy. “Lord Stark,” He said. “Do you need anything, my lord?”

“No.” Ned shook his head, walking to the other side of the bed. “I just came to see how he was doing.”

The old man looked down, taking a deep breath. “Well, he’s alive.” he said. “But his chances of waking up diminish every day. We should’ve seen some improvement by now.”

Ned’s breath got caught in his throat. He nodded. “Then we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Indeed.” Luwin sighed. “Now, I’ll leave you be.”

He bowed slightly and left, closing the door behind him. Ned was left alone in the room with Jon. The boy was asleep in the bed, his forehead and chest wrapped in fresh bandages. He wasn’t as pale as the first day, but he was far from his normal color. Ned sat down next to him, listening to his little breaths.

Even asleep the boy seemed troubled, it was something in his face, a permanent look of sadness. It was a trait he had come to associate with Jon: always quiet and gloomy. The boy rarely spoke, even fewer times he laughed. He always seemed miserable, no matter how hard Ned tried for him not to be. As a baby, coming back from the war, he had been cheerful, always laughing. He was just like his mother. Winterfell beat that cheerfulness out of him. The older he got, the more reserved he became.

“You told me to protect him.” Ned muttered to the air. “You handed me the son of a dead prince, told me to protect him, and then died…”

Lyanna’s face was clear in Ned’s mind. “Now I only have him to remember you… him and a statue in a dark crypt.” Ned’s voice was low, his eyes on Jon.

“I’ve done what I’ve thought best, sister.” He muttered, cupping Jon’s cheek. “But I’m not sure if it’s been good enough. I’ve protected him from Robert, or anyone who may try to harm him for his name. I took his name away to save him, but I may have condemned him in another way…”

Jon’s face was still, resting on his uncle's hand. “He’s so quiet, Lyanna… such a lonely boy. You can barely notice him when he’s in a room.” Jon shifted slightly, whimpering. “Perhaps you’ll see him soon… and then you’ll know I couldn’t keep my promise.”

He sighed, feeling a knot in his throat. “You’ll enjoy his company, Lyanna. He’s a sweet and considerate boy, selfless like no other. I’m sure he’ll like you, there’s a reason Arya and him are so close.” He smiled sadly.

Ned found himself running his hands through Jon’s dark locks. He had his mother’s hair, and also her eyes.

The day Lyanna died was still clear in his memory. It felt surreal, to watch her sister close her eyes and lie forever still. At the time, he felt as he had nothing left of her. He didn’t look at the baby for a few hours afterwards, too shocked to process it all. Ned was just a boy, they were all children playing at war. Ned had helped Robert murder his sister’s husband, Jon’s father. If it weren’t for the rebellion, Jon would be in King’s landing, in line to sit in the Iron throne. He would have had his father at least, and perhaps he would be happier.

He took Jon’s future away from him before it even began, he left him with nothing.

That thought haunted him ever since that day. Perhaps it was the reason why he couldn’t look at the baby at first. But, later that night, he finally went to see him.

Jon was awake in his crib, gurgling and whimpering in the dark. As soon as Ned looked over him, the babe stopped to stare back at him. That moment was ingrained in him forever. It was then that he saw his sister’s eyes again, staring up at him from the crib. He picked Jon up and held him, looking into those eyes.

Lyanna was still with him, in that little baby’s stare…

Ned sighed deeply, holding the boy’s hand. Now he was going to lose those eyes forever. He would lose his nephew and the last living reminder of his sister, his promise to Lyanna would turn to nothing. He imagined what it would be like to tell Robb and Arya Jon was gone. Arya would be destroyed, and in truth, so would Ned. Jon may not be his son, but he raised him since birth. He was his nephew, and he loved him. He really was a sweet and caring boy, even if he didn’t talk much. Jon loved his cousins, especially Arya, and would do anything for them.

He didn’t want him to die.

“You’re going to live.” Ned whispered. “You won’t join your parents yet, Jon.”

He looked around the empty room before leaning into Jon’s ear. “You’re too strong… a fall can’t kill you.” He whispered. “You’re much more than you think: you’re the child of a wolf and a dragon.”


	10. Chapter 10

Arya sat next to the bed, looking at Jon. It was way past her bedtime, but she couldn’t sleep. So, she did what she always did. She went to Jon. It was weird for her to come in and not find him putting his boots away. The room was dark and quiet so she got a candle and placed it on Jon’s nightstand. 

Jon slept quietly, his eyes closed. She dragged a chair to the side of the bed and stood on it. “I’m staying with you this time.” She said, planting a soft kiss to his bandaged head.

She blew the candle and sat back on the chair, resting her head on the mattress. She kept looking at Jon, watching him stir slightly through the darkness. She accommodated herself. “You’ll live… I don’t care what Sansa says.” She whispered. “She’s too stupid to know anything anyways.”

Arya grabbed her brother’s hand, resting her cheek on it. She closed her eyes, and soon it all went dark. 

She had odd dreams of cliffs and dragons. In her dream, a white dragon plummeted down a tall cliff, spinning out of control before her eyes. She held her breath for the moment of impact, but the beast extended his wings and flew away into the morning sun. 

“Arya?” A familiar voice spoke softly.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the light coming in through the window. She was still resting on the mattress, her body stiff from the odd angle she slept in. Jon’s hand was still in hers, clutching it tightly. Arya laid back down, drowsy as she rubbed her eyes with her free hand. She didn’t notice Jon’s eyes on her until he messed her hair. “You shouldn’t be here.” He said, his voice weak. 

Arya looked up at him, eyes wide. Jon was smiling at her, his face still pale. “Jon!” She shrieked, jumping on top of him.

He winced, but hugged her tight. His chest hurt under her weight, but he didn’t mind. Arya cried into his pillow, holding on tight. “I told Sansa you would live!” She screamed. “I told her!”

Jon chuckled. “I’m sure you did.” He coughed.

 

********

 

They had a good hunt, got some rabbits and even a good sized buck. He really didn’t want to hunt, but his wife convinced him that it would help Robb feel better. She had been right. Some of his son’s joyfulness had come back to him as he ran after his prey, like a wolf stalking in the forest. Being honest, Ned had a good time too. For the first time in days he could forget the problems back at home. 

Robb spoke to him and Theon cheerfully on the way back, reliving the killing shot of the buck. Ned smiled at the sound of his voice and the liveliness in it. He had missed it. They dismounted in the courtyard, allowing the cooks and other servants to take away their game. “Now you can say you’ve killed a buck, Robb.” Theon said, chuckling. “And it only took you five arrows.”

Robb nudged him. “It was a fast one.”

Theon and Ned chuckled, watching Robb’s cheeks turn red. 

Maester Luwin was waiting for them next to the stables, a smile on his face. “My lord, I have good news.” He said, coming to meet them.

The three men turned to look at the old man, waiting anxiously for him to speak.

“Jon Snow woke up this morning after you left Winterfell.” He announced. “There were no apparent damages to his mind. He will be alright.”

Robb smiled, sighing deeply. Theon nudged him playfully, a relieved look on his face. However, none of them could match Ned’s emotions. He felt as a boulder was suddenly lifted off his shoulders, and for the first time in days, he could breathe.

 

*******

 

They found Jon laying in his bed, several pillows propped behind him to help him sit up. He was looking out the window, his face still pale. 

Jon turned to look at them, giving them a weak smile. He seemed exhausted. 

Robb walked up to him, putting one hand on his shoulder. “You bloody idiot.” He muttered, throwing himself on top of him for a tight hug. “I told you not to get the damn sword.”

Jon winced, hugging him back. “It was valyrian steel.” He insisted, chuckling slightly. “I couldn’t let it fall. Besides, I didn’t want father to kill you.”

“You should’ve let it fall.” Ned interrupted, walking up to the bed. “It was stupid of you to risk your life for a sword, you know it.”

Robb moved aside for his father, allowing him to stand at the side of his bed. Jon’s smile vanished, and he looked down. “I’m sorry father,” He muttered. “I didn’t think-”

Ned grabbed his shoulder, smiling before pulling him into a hug. “I know.” He said. Jon looked up at him, an incredulous look in his eyes. “But your life is worth more than all the valyrian swords in the world, remember that.” 

A genuine smile appeared on the boy’s face, lighting up his face. He got that from his mother too, the smile. It made Ned’s heart swell when he saw it.

He was glad he got to keep that smile a while longer.


End file.
